Danny Gospel

by David Athey

  The elderly priest squinted over the pews that were overflowing with Marta's family and friends and what appeared to be a hundred migrant workers. I wondered: did the migrants stay beyond the harvest just for this wedding?

  "Dearly beloved, we are gathered together-"

  Pearl stomped the snow from her boots while Gladys loudly unzipped her parka. The elderly priest, who should have been immune to such interruptions, halted the ceremony.

  My brother's eyes turned from his bride to see me fidgeting near a font of holy water. Without hesitation, Jon motioned for me to join him at the altar. Marta had a maid of honor beside her, and my presence would have created a perfect symmetry; but I hesitated.

  Marta, realizing who I was, gestured emphatically, her arms a whirling welcome of beaded white.

  Every head turned.

  It was one of those moments when it seems like every person in a story is on the same page except for the one idiot who is lost somewhere in a previous chapter and can't find the courage to get caught up. I shuffled backward, attempting to escape.

  Pearl and Gladys reached out and held me fast. Just then Hilde burst through the door, having found a parking place closer than North Dakota. She and her purple hat crashed into me and launched me forward, and down the aisle I went.

  Jon whispered something to the befuddled priest, who eventually understood and happily announced, "The best man has arrived."

  The congregation murmured their pleasant surprise.

  Jon winked at Marta. She winked back. The priest squinted at his holy book and continued with the holy words.

  When it came time to exchange the rings, Jon handed a small black box to me. I opened the box with trembling fingers, took out the shimmering golden circle, and handed it right back to my brother. Jon's face was joyful, serious, and devout. Very gently, he took Marta's hand and placed the ring upon her finger. The vows were exchanged. A perfect kiss was shared. And a wonderful husband and wife were applauded by the witnesses, applauded so graciously that it may as well have been for Adam and Eve in the first blushing of the Garden.

  Pearl, Gladys, and Hilde blubbered in the back of the church. Tears were the only gift they had brought to the wedding, so they drenched their faces and blew their noses with great generosity.

  At the reception, seated at the high table, I was asked by Marta to give a speech.

  Part of me wanted to politely decline. Part of me wanted to flee the room. Something prompted me to stand like a gentleman, raise a champagne glass, and say, "Jonathan and Marta, may you always be each other's most beautiful dreams."

  That was it. One simple sentence and everybody was happy. We lifted the bubbly to our lips, and some people drained their glasses, and some people sipped.

  Jon put his arm around me and said to the room, "Some of you know about the Gospel Family. Most of you are meeting us for the first time. Let me just say that Danny and I have a history of biblical proportions."

  The crowd laughed. They had historic families, too.

  Jon paused, nodding reverently at his guests. "I want everyone to hear something," he said, "a sound that never should have stopped. I want everyone to hear me sing. With my brother."

  Talk about pressure. There I was at the high table, standing before Marta's relatives and friends, lawyers, a hundred migrant workers, three blubbering widows, and one squinting priest.

  Could I simply clear my throat of years of sorrow and anger and somehow find it in my soul to sing sweetly? Could I suddenly harmonize with someone who had ruined my dreams? Jon had sold the farm, leaving me with absolutely nothing to offer to Rachel. At least, that was the pitiful mythology that I'd constructed to turn my brother into a sort of enemy.

  However, in reality, down in my heart, in that place where nothing lives except God's forgiveness, I still loved my brother. Very much.

  "Jonny Gospel," I said, putting my arm around him, "what do you want to sing?"

  He whispered, "Holly's favorite song."

  Those words were so charged with emotion that I almost broke down. My lungs hollowed, my knees buckled. Jon tightened his grip around my waist, but what really saved me from falling was some chaos in the back of the reception hall. It was purple-hatted Hilde knocking over a chair to get at the piano.

  All heads turned, and some mouths murmured, and some tongues tsked, giving me a few moments to regain my composure.

  Hilde shouted, "What song are you boys going to sing? I'll play for you!"

  Jon answered, "`Angels We Have Heard on High!"'

  "Wait a second," I said. "Wait."

  My brother's face went pale as if he felt I was going to back out. But actually, I wanted to recruit more voices.

  "The Gospel Boys will sing a verse," I said, "and then everyone will join the chorus. Feel free to clap your hands and stomp your feet."

  A room full of Christmas faces lit up.

  Hilde raised her hands above the keyboard and then pounded out a joyful introduction. Jon and I, as if we'd never been out of practice, hit the first note in harmony.

  "Angels we have heard on high, sweetly singing o'er the plains! And the mountains in reply, echoing their joyous strains!"

  And then there was clapping, stomping, and elated wailing with the "GLORIA" that seemed to go on forever and ever, until finally ending, "in excelsis Deo!"

  After the song, everyone applauded for everyone, and then the maid of honor stood to make a toast. Marta's best friend was tall and dark with the brightest brown eyes. She was so pretty in her Christmas-red dress that I had to turn away and focus on the least sexy face in the room.

  It was Grease, appearing between Pearl and Gladys. He waved a grimy hand, and I nodded my recognition. It looked as if Grease had left his garage in a hurry, still wearing his overalls, and I wondered if he had important news for me.

  The maid of honor spoke eloquently about Marta and praised her many accomplishments. She ended her tribute with this remark: "Marta, you were great without Jon. And now, joined with him as a partner at work, home, and church, the two of you will establish a legacy that will inspire others to live lives devoted to the love of God and neighbor. I want to congratulate you and Jon, and your firm, for dedicating yourselves to agricultural reform. Your hard work is God's pleasure. But also remember, while working for the benefit of others, don't ever forget the kindness, warmth, and special graces reserved for yourselves. Okay?"

  The champagne glasses went ting, ting, ting, and the newlyweds stood and kissed, much to the delight of the crowd.

  After her public display of married affection, Marta addressed the room. "Christmas Eve is a strange date for a wedding, but Jon and I wanted our marriage to be a gift. We requested no presents. However, the Christmas tree by the window is surrounded by wrapped boxes. Those are presents for you. In return, Jon and I ask for your prayers so that our marriage will be joyful and productive. And Danny, I want to welcome you to the Buenaventura family. Our hearts and homes are open to you. Don't be surprised if a dozen kids call you `Uncle' tonight in one language or another. We are a fun-loving, crazy family. And from what I hear, Danny, you will fit right in. Okay, that's enough speeches now. It's time for Father Glen to give us a dinner blessing."

  The elderly priest responded well to his cue. "In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit, let us continue the celebration with blessed food and music."

  Dinner was served-a choice of pork tenderloin or gourmet chicken fajitas. Jon and I chose the fajitas, and then we talked for the first time in a couple of months. Marta gave us some space, chatting away with her maid of honor.

  I was nervous, worried that I might say the wrong thing, considering the years of bad blood.

  "It was a wonderful wedding, Jon."

  "Thanks for being here, Danny."

  "So. How did you find such a beautiful bride?"

  Jon shrugged. "I don't know. She just crossed my path one day, and kicked my butt in the courtroom. Marta's amazing. She's the smartest person I've
ever met."

  "That's an interesting coincidence," I said. "Rachel was the smartest person I'd ever met."

  Jon acknowledged the pain in my voice. "Danny, I hope this wedding isn't pouring salt in your wounds."

  I sipped some water and played dumb. "What do you mean?"

  "After Marta and I had planned every detail of our Christmas wedding and made the announcement and sent out the invitations, I realized that the date of our event was not an original idea."

  "Oh really?"

  "Danny. You wanted to marry Rachel on Christmas Eve."

  "I did?"

  "I'm sorry. When I remembered, it was too late. Marta's grandmother and some aunts had already made plane reservations from Mexico."

  "It's okay," I forced myself to say. "Life goes on."

  Jon nodded nervously, not sure what to say next. "Say, Danny, isn't Marta's wedding dress the most beautiful thing you've ever seen?"

  My response was a hiss. "Someone once scorched a dress."

  Jon shifted uneasily in his chair. "What are you talking about?"

  "You know. The heirloom. Grammy Dorrie's wedding dress. The one Rachel was going to wear. The one Holly was going to wear."

  My brother shook his head. "That old dress was never going to be worn by another bride."

  "Why do you say that?"

  "Danny, did you ever look at the dress?"

  "Of course I looked."

  "And did you see? It was moth eaten and full of holes. Didn't Rachel tell you that after she tried it on?"

  "No. Rachel spoke of the dress as a lovely thing, a heavenly thing. If it was actually a ruin, she pretended otherwise."

  The celebrants went ting, ting, ting on their glasses, calling for the bride and groom to kiss again. Jon smiled boyishly and gave Marta a passionate smooch. The crowd applauded and cheered. Adding to their happiness, chocolate cheesecake appeared in large quantities. With chocolate sauce. And a white chocolate candy stick. And coffee and hot chocolate.

  The DJ, near the Christmas tree, was eager to get the dance started. His legs were dancing in place, but he controlled himself and put on a mellow CD. The song was another of Holly's favorites. She and Mother loved to sing it together.

  "It came upon a midnight clear, that glorious song of old, from angels bending near the earth to touch their harps of gold."

  Jon sighed heavily and whispered into my ear, "I feel like I killed her."

  I knew what he was confessing. "No," I said. "You can't take all the blame for that."

  "Danny, I should have been in the Boundary Waters with her. I should have saved her. But I was too busy raising hell and wasting my life."

  "I'm sure she forgives you."

  Jon nodded. "I'm sure she does. But I still have to make amends. If I ever have the chance again, I need to save somebody's life."

  I was just about to ask him about my trouble with the post office when Marta stood and announced, "It's time to get your presents! Line up!"

  The children squealed, as did the merry widows and the auto mechanic. Even the lawyers seemed to have the Christmas spirit. Everyone rushed to form a line in front of the tall tree.

  Marta recruited Jon and me and the maid of honor to help distribute the gifts. Mistletoe dangled from a branch, and the maid of honor in her red dress gave me a warm smile. "I'm Rosalita."

  "I'm Danny."

  "I know."

  I pointed. "That mistletoe is nothing but trouble."

  "Don't worry. You're safe."

  I stood beside Rosalita and handed out brightly wrapped packages to everyone in the reception hall while music filled the air and smiles adorned every face.

  At the end of the line was a family of eight. Rosalita whispered in my ear, "Migrants. Tragic story. Give them everything that remains."

  There were only seven gifts remaining. One short. Jon and Marta had estimated the guest list correctly but had not figured in how generous Rosalita and I would be. Many people had received more than one present. In fact, some of the kids earlier in the line had received armfuls.

  The migrant family consisted of a tired-looking mother, a work-weary father, and three boys and three girls. The children were aged from teenagers all the way down to a toddler.

  When it became obvious that we were lacking a gift, the father insisted that he go without.

  Marta said, "Don't worry, we'll find something for you.

  Jon said, "I think Grease got two packages. Wait here. I'll retrieve one."

  The migrant father stared at the floor, his eyes full of shame. One of his daughters, six or seven years old, had already opened her gift. It was a picture book with Moses on the cover leading his people through the Red Sea. The little girl grinned and showed the book to her father. The weary man, with a strength of spirit I will never forget in this life or the next, gently touched his daughter's face. "Beauti-ful," he said in broken English.

  Marta began to cry and rushed off to find Jon. I reached into my pocket and pulled out the deed to the Williams farm. Why not give it to the migrant family? Why shouldn't they have a chance at their dreams?

  Rosalita was watching me. She whispered, "Danny. No. That deed is for you."

  I whispered back, "You knew about this?"

  "Yes. Jon was involved."

  "My brother was involved in my receiving a farm that I didn't really want?"

  Rosalita shook her head. "Danny, you don't understand. But you will. Now, please put the deed back into your pocket."

  "Okay," I said. "But I'm giving them something."

  I whirled around to a table and found some discarded wrapping paper, and stuffed my remaining cash into the shiny paper and folded it as neatly as possible.

  "Merry Christmas," I said, handing the present to the migrant father.

  He opened the gift while I prayed that he wouldn't be offended. His eyes watered. "Gracias," he said. "Gracias, padrino de la boda."

  "You're very welcome."

  He hugged his little daughter who was hugging the Moses book, and exclaimed, "Feliz Navidad!"

  Rosalita smiled and gave me a mischievous look.

  I whispered, "What is it?"

  "Every good work is rewarded, Danny, one way or another."

  "What do you mean?"

  She shrugged. "You'll find out when you get home."

  Home?

  The DJ could not wait another moment. He just had to start playing some disco. A gaudy ball descended from the ceiling and began casting colorful glimmers from wall to wall. And the floor filled with dancers.

  Grease was out there with the merry widows, flailing and shaking and making them laugh. And the migrants were out there, too, mixing it up with Jon and Marta and the lawyers and Father Glen and the whole Buenaventura family, everybody dancing with joyful abandon.

  Except for me.

  I was suddenly overcome with an urge to leave the party.

  Knowing the widows could catch a ride with Grease, I snuck outside into the swiftly falling snow, hoping Jon and Marta would not be offended by my early departure. I didn't mean to be rude. It's just that something seemed to be calling me. And I had to answer.

  I didn't have any gloves, hat, or overcoat, and I shivered while tromping through the winter wonderland, looking for the buried Cadillac. Since the parking lot was full when we arrived, I searched the side streets near the church, with the north wind briskly tickling my ears. And then I heard an amazing sound-jingling and jangling in the wind-what seemed to be sleigh bells. Was it possible? Was it Santa Claus?

  It was Grease, trudging into view, shaking the car keys. "Danny! I saw you sneak out. But you won't get far without these. Hilde gave them to me."

  My friend tossed the keys into the air and I caught them.

  "Grease, you're the greatest."

  He grinned. "I'm in the top ten, that's for sure."

  I laughed. "Now if I could just find the car."

  Grease kicked the snow. "I wish you wouldn't leave yet, Danny. The party's just getting
started. You should see me dancing."

  "I saw you, buddy. You've got some amazing moves."

  He nodded proudly and tried to do a spin, and almost fell.

  "Remember to go slow," I said, "when you drive those widows home."

  "What do you mean, drive 'em home? You think I'm a taxi service?"

  "I think you're a saint, almost. So don't drink and drive. Get those ladies home safely. And do you remember what the Canadian voice said about strip clubs?"

  "Don't go there."

  "That's right, buddy. Now help me find the car."

  He pointed. "It's that giant mountain in front of your face! For a Gospel boy, you sure are blind."

  "Shut up, Grease."

  He laughed and slapped my shoulder, sending a cloud of snow flying. "Danny, Iowa hasn't been the same without you."

  "I missed you, too, Grease."

  "Did you know that Will Bentley is okay? Did you know that you're not in trouble anymore?"

  I was still in trouble for other things, but I said, "Thanks for telling me."

  Grease was beaming. "Danny, did you hear about. .

  "Hear about what?"

  Grease bit his tongue. He really bit it. "Ouchth. Never mind."

  "Hmm. You know something. Spit it out."

  "Well ... okay," he said, his eyes sort of wild. "I don't know if I know anything or not, but I was wondering if you could possibly help me."

  "How?"

  Grease stared at the snowy mound of Cadillac. "Danny, can you bring the high-rider to a secret location and make a switch?"

  "A switch?"

  "I have your truck hidden away."

  "Where?"

  Grease glanced around and then whispered the secret into my nearly numb ear.

  chapti ten

  THE BLINDING SNOW made the journey a dangerous trip, but I traversed a center path between the two lanes on the interstate. Winter roads claim many souls, and one wrong turn of the wheel can result in a last-ditch effort to keep from rolling over. I enjoyed the challenge of snow blindness, feeling like a bold explorer at the top or bottom of the world. After several hours, my mind was wandering from memory to memory and face to face. And I began to wonder about dreams and the places they take us and the places they make us stay.